


Reassurance

by Kadira



Category: Person Of Interest - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadira/pseuds/Kadira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys have to deal with some unexpected jealousy – on both sides. Set some time after 2x19 - Trojan Horse, spoilers for other episodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reassurance

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank-you to [rivermorethanafriendithink](http://rivermorethanafriendithink.tumblr.com/), [](http://i-m-just-jay513.livejournal.com/profile)[**i_m_just_jay513**](http://i-m-just-jay513.livejournal.com/) and [](http://ai731.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://ai731.livejournal.com/)**ai731** for their immense help and marvelous betas! All remaining mistakes are my own fault.

**I a.**

Finch didn't bat an eyelash when someone joined him on his bench, not even once he recognized the newcomer. Bear growled however, and Finch decided that a treat might be in order later.

"Mr. Pierce," Finch greeted the other man. "Would it result in anything if I asked how you found me?"

Even without turning around, he could see the impudent grin spreading over Pierce's features.

"Of course it won't. Like you, I have my resources," he said and sounded far too amused for anyone's well-being.

"Aren't you too busy rattling Wall Street?" Finch said, remembering that he had seen Logan Pierce in the news last week, with some new money-making scheme or the other. Finch hadn't particularly cared what he was doing. Pierce had been a number and he had been saved. Saving him had proven to be difficult enough and Logan had been just obnoxious enough with the watch that Finch had been glad he was gone from their lives.

When Finch turned around, the billionaire shrugged lazily, then leaned back, neck against the bench, so that the sun could shine on his face, as if he didn't have the slightest care in the world, for anybody or anything. Pierce probably didn't.

"We both know that money does most of the work itself once it gets the first push. I got bored," Pierce finally said, after Finch had almost resigned himself to the fact that no answer would be forthcoming.

"Clearly, not getting killed now and then must make for a dull life," Finch said.

Pierce ignored him asking, "Where's John?" He changed the topic rapidly, sitting up again, eyes gleaming.

"John?" Finch asked.

"Yes, I'm sure you remember him. John – tall, good looking and much more interesting than he cared to appear. Your employee, if I'm not mistaken. Or is he maybe an ex-employee?" Pierce sounded almost pathetically hopeful.

Finch's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he took in the other man. Pierce seemed completely relaxed, but unlike before, his pupils were slightly dilated and his breathing appeared not quite that steady anymore.

"I know perfectly well who you are talking about Mr. Pierce," Finch said, voice cold. "I just don't see why it should be of any interest to you."

Pierce grinned, his eyes sparkling. "After he so rudely refused my present, I had to come in person to make sure that he was fine."

"Your present? Which was it? The watch or the GPS tracker hidden within it?"

"Maybe I just missed him," Pierce continued, completely unfazed. "Or maybe," he said, drawling out the first syllable of the 'maybe' in a highly annoying way, "I want to offer him a job."

"Mr. Reese is already employed if you care to remember," Finch said dispassionately. "And he already refused your employment proposal once."

Pierce's grin widened. He seemed much too sure about himself. "Ah, but maybe this time I have an offer for John that he won't be able to refuse. And maybe I would even leave this city and your secrets behind me if he were willing to accompany me. If that is what he wants, that is."

Finch's hand involuntarily clenched into a fist. Out of Pierce's sight thankfully, but Bear clearly sensed that something was wrong. He sat up between them, ears to attention, ready for any possible threat. When Pierce reached out to scratch him behind the ears, Bear not only growled in clear warning, but also showed his sharp teeth.

Finch could barely suppress a smile when Pierce withdrew his hand hastily.

"So, are you going to tell me where I can find John, or do I have to find him myself?" he asked then, his happy demeanor obviously spoiled by Bear.

He would definitely get a treat at home, Finch decided. A big one!

"And why would I do that, Mr. Pierce?"

"Maybe because-- Oh," Pierce suddenly said, his eyes taking in Finch in a very uncomfortable way, scrutinizing him. "So it is that way... I thought that there was something going on the last time I saw you two together. You want him for yourself!"

Finch forced himself not to wince at the crude exposure of something so personal by a person like Pierce.

"Does he even know that you feel this way? Because if not, then I--"

Finch had had enough. He came to his feet. "John knows everything there is to know," he said icily. "And now you should take your leave Mr. Pierce, preferably without ever looking for either of us again. I assure you, you will be much happier for a much longer time to come if you take my advice," he said, not even trying to veil his threat. Then, not giving the other man a chance to answer, he turned around and vanished into the crowd, seething inwardly.

 

**II a.**

Of course, Logan Pierce wasn't the only one who had it bad for John as Finch knew only too well.

Half of New York had fallen for Mr. Reese and the only reason the other half hadn't was because they didn't know yet that he existed.

It was a bit... taxing at times, even if John, amazingly enough, had not the slightest idea what he was causing. In fact, he seemed completely oblivious to the effect he had on the people around him, even those he interacted with personally, like Leon Tao, Mr. Elias and even Detective Fusco.

Not that the latter seemed aware of it himself. But it was right there, in the way Fusco spoke about John, even when he was angry at him and wished him to hell.

Elias was no danger. He was much too far on the other side of the spectrum for John to even be remotely interested in him. There was something between them no doubt, especially from Elias' side; he would do anything for John. The lengths he was willing to go to help John, despite their occasional clash, was a fascinating development. But Elias would never get any closer to John than he was now. Not that Elias seemed to mind. Fascinatingly, he seemed happy enough watching and admiring John from afar. (And if that should ever change, after the event with Leila, Finch had put safety measures in place, which would make sure that he could never really harm John).

Mr. Tao was a different matter and it never ceased to amaze Finch that John was so completely oblivious of him and his feelings. Even after Leon's number had come up for the third time and the pattern had become obvious. It had been amusing to watch just how hopelessly besotted Leon was with John, how he managed to find new ways to endanger his own life and to attract John's attention.

Not that Finch could blame him, or really anyone who fell for John. But that he could understand them didn't mean that he approved.

But while Pierce was only the latest in a long line, he was still an entirely different matter. A matter that gnawed at Finch in a way he has never experienced before.

Jealousy, he realized absently. It was an interesting and completely new experience.

His pondering was interrupted when Bear jumped up as soon as the door opened. John strolled in, a box with fresh donuts in his right hand while balancing a paper holder with two steaming cups in his left.

Bear, being the sensible dog he was – and no doubt hoping for a sizable treat for good behavior – stopped short of jumping at John and just followed him, patiently waiting for him to put down everything.

Once John had done just that, there was no holding back anymore though. Bear jumped at John, nearly brought him to the floor. John laughed, happily, playing with him.

Finch smiled at the display of affection.

"I met an old acquaintance today," he said, putting away the paperwork for their last number – an old woman who had tried to supplement her small pension by selling drugs and nearly got herself killed during her first deal, courtesy of the Russian cartel. He tried to keep his voice calm, but even he could hear the strain.

So could John obviously. After all, he had been trained to observe people and to notice everything about them.

Bear whined, probably in protest of the suddenly terminated play activities and the increase in tension.

"Who?" John asked and Finch could almost hear how he mentally ran through all their enemies and their last known location as well as the threat level for Finch, ending with the most likely name, Ms. Groves aka Root.

"Mr. Pierce."

He could almost see John relaxing gradually. Everything was better than Root in John's book.

"Who?" he asked again, honestly confused.

"Logan Pierce. The eccentric billionaire."

"Oh? How did he find you? And what did he want?" The relief in John's voice was palpable.

"For obvious reasons he abstained from telling me how he found me. As for the second point, apparently he wanted to offer you a job, again. In fact, he was quite insistent on that," Finch said, trying very hard not to allow his anger to reflect in his voice.

John shrugged and came to his feet. "I already told him that I was not for sale."

"He insisted that he had an offer you couldn't possible refuse," Finch said, voice slightly heated as he lost the fight against his self-control and allowed his feelings to surface for a moment.

John raised an eyebrow. "Well, whatever it is he has to offer, I doubt that his employee benefits are nearly as tempting as the ones I enjoy now," he said. His voice had changed with the last words, had become deeper, rougher, the tone that did the most interesting things to Finch, something John knew very well and had no qualms about using for his benefit.

Finch involuntarily harrumphed. John smiled brightly, knowingly. "Actually," Finch said, voice slightly rougher than before, "I think that was exactly what he had in mind for your employment."

"Oh, was it?" John asked.

Finch's eyes were glued to the other man when John started to approach him. There was nothing of his earlier playfulness anymore. Instead, he looked like a wild cat, a panther, sleek and dangerous and completely focused on his prey, wild and untamed.

He shivered and John smiled in reaction (the smile that made people fall for him right and left, Finch thought, mesmerized by the image).

"Maybe you should have told Mr. Pierce that I already have an eccentric billionaire who fills that spot perfectly fine, Harold," he said, voice a low murmur as he wrapped his arms around Finch, pressing him close.

Finch could smell the aftershave he had given to John and he felt himself relax ever so slightly as his encounter with Logan Pierce became unimportant. Warmth spread through him as Reese cupped his cheek, holding his eyes for a moment before leaning in with his face, his stubble carefully scraping over Finch's face. All for his benefit, Finch knew. Once he had accidentally let slip that he quite liked the stubble, John had tried his best to accommodate him in that as well.

"Next time you see him, tell him that my boss keeps me completely occupied and satisfied, on all levels," he said and Finch could feel and hear the grin accompanying that statement.

"But does he?" Harold asked, proud that the steadiness of his voice hadn't degenerated further.

"Oh, yes. Completely," John said and he sounded so very happy and content that Finch felt a rush of warmth.

John was his and his alone, from the top to the bottom and everything in between. Pierce – or anyone else – would never stand a chance with John, no matter how hard they would try.

John nibbled at his neck, carefully holding him in a way he knew wouldn't hurt him. Reese was always so mindful of his strength, always so careful not to hurt Harold either physically or psychologically.

Finch found himself melting under the caresses, the hands that were currently roaming over his backside, with just the right pressure to let him feel the touch through his clothes.

"Please tell me that we don't have a number at the moment," John murmured against his skin, voice rough, urging, heated, filled with the same intensity that was gathering within Finch.

Harold felt his cock stirring between them in reaction, yearning for the others' touch. His body, all his nerves and desires, focused on John.

"No, no number," he finally managed to form an answer, his hands reaching up to help John in getting rid of their clothes.

 

**III a.**

"Mine," Harold said later, in one of his rare admissions to the intensity of his feelings, when they were both bathing in the afterglow, his hands caressing John's face.

"Always," John replied, and it was a statement he meant, as Finch knew very well. No matter how many more Taos, Eliases or Pierces would show up and try to get his attention; John would remain oblivious and leave a trail of broken hearts on his way.

It should probably worry them just how completely absorbed they had become in each other, on all levels. On a rational level, Finch had known already that there was no reason for him to worry, that John couldn't care less about Pierce. But that still didn't stop his jealousy from taking over, until nothing but John's sure, careful touch and gentle kisses could ease it again.

This all-consuming feeling was something new, something he hadn't known before, not even with Grace. Probably because there had been no reason for it then. He had been complete then, not broken yet, and they just had each other, with no intrusions to worry about from the outside, no charming billionaire, no gent-in-distress, just _them_.

On an abstract level it was interesting to analyze, to examine himself, even if he knew that, on an intellectual level, his feelings, his fears, were ridiculous. John wouldn't go anywhere, wouldn't leave him behind. Not now. Not after everything that had happened.

This was John, _Finch's_ John, who had even argued with the machine, had forced it to help him to find Finch, against its own programming.

Amazingly enough, for the time being, Finch almost felt as if they were a normal couple - not like two broken halves of people who didn't even exist, but happened to fit together so very well. John let his finger absently wander over Finch's shoulder when the phone rang. It was a new number, no doubt.

Finch made a move to get up, but John pressed him down again, kissing his shoulder gently. "I'll take it. You stay here," treating Finch with a glorious view of his bare backside and the amusing thought of just how many more people would be undone if they ever saw that. Not that Finch would allow it.

* * *

**I b.**

John listened to Finch talking to their number and forced himself to ignore a very unwelcome nagging feeling in his stomach, which he couldn't quite place yet, as Ms. Jacobs and Finch went off, talking about tablets and whatever else, while John was stuck, waiting for his assignment.

"You have got a crush on this number, haven't you Finch?" John said, sounding amazed.

That question had been his first slip, the first time he had acknowledged the nagging feeling in his stomach. He had laughed it off then, had pretended that it was just a joke. Harold had bought it. Fortunately. It made it easier for John to believe it himself.

Still, John was grateful that this particular number _(Monica Jacobs, not just a number)_ didn't leave them much time to engage in other activities, much less to talk.

"So, are you having coffee with her?" John found himself asking, almost offhandedly at some point.

"Why should I?" Harold sounded honestly confused, as if the thought had never crossed his mind. It probably hadn't, which is why John was here to remind him that there was more to life.

"You definitely should," he said, ignoring Finch's question completely, voice lighthearted. "You could geek out together. Talk in binary code or whatever you do with someone like yourself."

He turned around at Harold's incredulous gaze, unable to bear it. It was not exactly that he wanted for Harold to go out with anyone else – quite the contrary, his stomach recoiled at the mere thought of it – but he wanted Harold to be happy and if it took geek-lady... John was not deaf and had heard the way Finch had spoken of her, the affection in his voice, the pride.

"I'm taking Bear for a walk," was all he said in the end before Finch could reply, all but fleeing from the library. Bear followed him faithfully.

At least it couldn't get much worse John thought as he took their number, no, he corrected himself, as he took _Monica Jacobs_ , to Finch. The drive was silent and mercifully short. He was almost relieved when they got out and he could hand her over to Finch.

Almost.

Until the two started up again, bouncing off each other's brilliance.

His stomach twisted unpleasantly as the feelings he had been trying so hard to ignore returned full force. "If you two would rather be alone...," he finally said, voice pressed. John had no idea where that came from and based on Harold's narrowed, partly worried, partly confused expression, neither had he.

John's smile felt forced as he turned around, leaving the two of them alone.

The next part of the assignment was much more to John's liking. Getting in, doing his job, protecting people and getting everyone under his protection out, preferably unhurt. He put the feelings he was still too uncomfortable to even acknowledge into the bullets, tried with each shot to exorcise them and to get himself back under control again.

"You are going to miss her, aren't you Finch?" John asked later, watching Finch observe Ms. Jacobs as she became one with the crowd. It would have been a lie to say that he was sad to see her gone.

"I would, if I had time," Finch said, voice neutral. It still didn't stop John from hurting. "She could have made for an interesting conversation partner. But as it is, there is a matter we need to discuss," Finch said, then led the way, telling John about Decima Technologies and the virus…

Once he was done, they walked silently beside each other, both apparently lost in thoughts. "Care to tell me what was going on with you Mr. Reese?"

John cringed inwardly at the rather abrupt change of topic. "What are you talking about, Finch?" he eventually asked casually, after a break that was hopefully not too long and a voice that was steady enough not to reflect his feelings, his insecurity.

And what _should_ he tell Harold? It was not as if he really understood it himself.

It was not that John couldn't place the feeling, but he had never felt that way before, and certainly, with Harold, why should he feel this way at all? After all, there was nothing he wished for more than for Harold to be happy, and if it took a woman like Ms. Jacobs...

Finch uttered a non-committal sound, which was neither agreement nor disagreement, but a pretty clear indication of a brief break before the matter would be on the table again. It didn't happen often that they talked about their emotions, but once Harold had set his mind to something, there was no going back.

"Dinner?" John then asked and nearly winced at the pathetic hopefulness in his voice.

"No. I think I would rather return home. There is something I need to take care of."

Home being the library, where both of them spent most of their time anyway.

"Do you already have any leads? Or a new number?"

Finch shook his head and lead the way on, back to the library. "No."

John felt increasingly uneasy as he stepped into the library behind a silent Finch. Not that they ever felt the need to talk that much, but Finch had been even more silent than usual, had in fact been too lost in thoughts to even react to anything John had to say.

He followed Finch up the stairs, wishing that they had Bear with them for some much needed distraction and tension lifting.

He felt a bit useless as he observed Finch shrugging out of his coat, unsure of what to do next. "You could get started while I get us something to eat?" he suggested finally, still not having any idea what Finch was up to.

"No. I don't think so," Finch finally said, turning around. "I think we have something else to do first."

"And that would be?" John found himself asking.

"For a start, I think you should take off your coat, John," Harold said in a silky voice that barely hid a nuance of steel, which left no room for argument and did the most interesting things to certain parts of his body.

John did as he was told, rather intrigued if he had to admit it. This was new. He liked new. He especially liked new when it came from Finch.

"And now?" he asked once he had hung up not only his coat, but his jacket as well.

"The last few days, more specifically your reactions during the last few days, have made me realize that I may have been remiss in my attention to your needs."

John raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about, Finch?" He was as confused as he was intrigued. "My needs are very well taken care of."

"If they were, your recent display of jealously would hardly have been necessary."

"I wasn't--"

"Of course you were," Harold interrupted him, voice firm. "I have to admit that it took me a moment to understand your reason but once I figured it out, it all became very obvious."

"This is ridiculous," John said, feeling slightly embarrassed. And if his voice wavered slightly, and sounded maybe a tiny bit rougher than it usually did, it was most certainly just a coincidence. But really, how could he let his control slip so much? He was not exactly the overly emotional type, especially not when it came to relationships, not since Kara.

"I don't think so. I think it might be time to show you that there is no reason for it," Harold said and John discovered that one's breath could indeed get caught in one's throat as Harold approached him and then faced him, radiating something that made John want to jump him right away.

He followed Harold's lead willingly when he was pulled down for a kiss. No, not just a kiss. John would have been prepared for that, but the force behind the kiss, the soaring heat, stole his breath, made him feel light-headed.

 

**II b.**

Harold started opening the buttons of his shirt, one after the other, carefully, tormentingly slow. When John reached out to do the same, Harold shook his head. "No. Keep your hands to yourself, please." John reacted to the order even before the words had really sunken in, his cock agreeing with a jerk against his trousers.

He couldn't entirely suppress a groan.

"Now, I want for you to stay quiet. No touching and no moving. I just want for you to feel. You can do that for me, right, John?"

It was not really a question, and John found himself nodding and floating on that voice and the touch, drunk on the intoxicating proximity to Finch, the way he reacted to it. It shouldn't surprise John that Harold knew just which buttons to press.

"Very good. Thank you, John", Harold said in that voice of his that caused an interesting desire in John to just sink to his knees in front of the other man and to let him do whatever he wanted, and which was suddenly that much more intensified.

He shivered, willed his legs to not react to the urge, and his eyes half closed when he felt cool air on his skin and Harold pushing his shirt down his shoulders. He grabbed the shirt and – incredulous and horribly frustrating, but so very much like _Harold_ – he left John standing there to put the shirt over a chair, carefully, even taking the time to smooth out some wrinkles.

John felt at once turned on and frustrated. "Harold," he finally pressed out between his teeth. " _Please_!"

Unhurried, Harold turned around again. "The desk would be appropriate, I think. Wouldn't you agree, John?" he said, carefully stroking over John's chest, almost thoughtfully, taking him in. John felt himself flush under the scrutiny, his breathing becoming heavier.

John nodded hurriedly, breath hitching as Harold's hands mapped his scars (undoubtedly recalling just what John had told him about where he got each of them) and wandered further down, in a nearly absently gesture stroking over the front of his trousers. Involuntarily, John's hips jerked forward. Harold smiled and John realized that he would do and agree to _anything_ Harold suggested.

Harold cleared the desk, motioned John over.

And then Harold was on him again, touching and teasing John, who was half lying on the desk, surrounded by computers, which were just as much Finch as Finch was, an extension of himself. John felt his cock jerk at the thought that Harold was _everywhere_ , that he was the very air John inhaled, which kept him alive, that _Harold_ kept him alive and breathing and _feeling_.

He groaned and his hand clenched and unclenched in a conscious effort on his part not to reach out and pull Harold down, closer, whatever, just to feel and get more of him. Groans escaped him as Harold let his hands and lips wander over his body, teasing him, exploring him, until John had a hard time even remembering how he had gotten into this situation to begin with.

"Very good, John, you are doing so well," Harold said approvingly, then, with a last hummed kiss to John's chest, stopped moving entirely. John's half-closed eyes snapped open at the sudden loss of contact.

He growled, low, dangerously, "Please, Harold." Only this time it didn't sound like a plea but almost an order. Or maybe, with some lenience, it was a very fierce plea. John couldn't have cared less. All he knew was that he _needed_ Harold, that he didn't want to swim in a vacuum, not when he was feeling this way, when Harold had become the very real center, the _only_ center of John's universe.

And Harold obliged in that at least, was with him again, his hands finally on John's trousers, opening the soft material, letting it slide down to the ground. John thought that he would scream if Harold hung them up now as well and left him alone again.

Harold did the latter, but much to John's relief, only to get rid of his vest and his trousers, leaving John with an image that made his blood burn with hunger and desire.

"Please sit down, John," Harold said, pointing to the chair. John admired the other man's self-control as he willed his weak legs to move, to follow Harold's order. Harold looked flush, yet there was no doubt about his intent, his self-control, about what he wanted from John. And John submitted only too happily, more than ready and willing to give Harold whatever he wanted.

He looked at Harold, waiting for him to make his next move, his breathing ragged. He could only imagine the picture he must present for Harold, nude, aroused, _waiting_ , for Harold. He felt his cock growing even harder, then jerk as Harold's hand ghosted over it.

"Please," John said, not able any more to add anything more. Not that any words were necessary between them.

"Shh. Just a bit longer," Harold's voice washed over him, soothing. "I will be back in a moment," he said. And true to his word, he was back even before John had really processed the words.

And then Harold was sitting on his lap, sliding down John's cock, expression tense and focused, but determined and John felt his heart nearly bursting as the heat collected.

"Not yet, John," he heard Harold say, his breathing ragged. John allowed Harold's voice to drag him back once more from the abyss, because if Harold wanted to make it last, John would try his utter best. For Harold.

He nearly whined and then he slid completely into Harold, Harold's hands on him, his face, petting him and John leaned into the touch without even thinking about it.

"Gorgeous," Harold murmured, leaned forward to kiss John.

"Oh god, Harold," John groaned when Harold released him and started to move back and forth, careful, unhurriedly, as if they had all the time in the world, as if John's world wasn't narrowing very quickly to only one fixed point in the universe, his connection to this world. "Please," he reached out, helplessly, wanting to touch, needing the link, now more than ever before.

To his gratitude, this time Harold nodded, finally giving him permission to touch. With shaking fingers, John managed to open Harold's shirt, which even now felt expensive to the touch, left it hanging open while his hand wandered over sweat slicked skin, caressing, touching, _connecting_.

 

**III b.**

Harold looked just as out of it as John felt, yet he still managed to get off John and to move them both to the couch. More than that, he still managed to form coherent words as he dropped himself over John, which John thought was quite admirable after everything that had just taken place.

"I hope we can put every possible worry at ease, Mr. Reese. No matter what happens, never doubt that we are together in this."

"If you hadn't flirted with the number, there would have been no problem," John said, voice slurred. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you," he added, smiling lazily, gratified.

Even with closed eyes, John could feel Harold's gaze on him, partly disapproving, partly with the fond exasperation only Harold could express in such a way. John willed his eyes to open, locked their gazes. "And if I ever forget, feel free to remind me any time," he said, grinning. "That was amazing, Harold," he then said as he reached out for him, carefully pulling him close, even now mindful of his fragile state and having no desire to hurt him in any way, not even accidentally.

"I've been told that I have my moments," Finch said, sounding more than just a bit pleased with himself.

John smiled. "I didn't know you had such particular moments," he said, not only sounding satisfied, but feeling downright _happy_ , and for the first time in weeks just agreeably tired, instead of constantly on the edge, trying to understand something he didn't even want to understand. "Thank you, Harold," he added, drifting off.

-.-.-.-


End file.
